


behind your words we glimpse a tomorrow

by SublimeDiscordance



Series: silence, made whole [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Brother Raising Brother, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Muteness, Smol Childe Raleigh, complicated family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 13:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12532140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: Yancy asks Chuck to move in. Raleigh may or may not draw his own conclusions.





	behind your words we glimpse a tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Here we are. Part 3. I have no idea why this 'verse keeps drawing me back during the limited writing time I have/make these days. But, tbh, I'm not really complaining. 
> 
> Uneta'd. Also 95% written on my phone in 5-minute bursts either right before bed or while I was picking up my partner from work.

The second the words leave Yancy’s mouth, he wants to regret them.

“I-I mean,” he stammers, his eyes drawn down to the dinner Chuck had cooked them, “you don't _have_ to if you don't want to. I know you're where you want to be, and your dads and sister are close, and, god, I barely remember the fastest way to campus from here, and I—”

He's cut off by Raleigh pushing his notebook into the center of the table. This particular notebook has a bunch of anime robots all over the outside, and had been a gift to the kid from Chuck. After all, ever since Yancy had started stocking them around the house for Raleigh to use, the kid’d started amassing a collection of all different kinds. He's also caught Raleigh writing in the notebooks when no one is around, so he strongly suspects his brother has started keeping a journal or diary or...something like that.

Both he and Chuck crane to angle their heads and read what Raleigh’s written.

_Does this mean you're getting married?????_

“Oh my god,” Yancy puts his head in his hands, face feeling like it’s going to quite literally combust, “Rals, _no_ , that’s not—I…”

He takes a breath, the desire to not screw this up strong even beneath his mounting embarrassment.

“People can live together and not be married. I mean, just a few years ago, if Chuck and I wanted to get married, we wouldn’t be able to, and we’d have to settle for just living together anyway.”

The kid’s eyebrows scrunch. When he bends back over his notebook to scribble something else, Yancy risks a glance over at Chuck. It tells Yancy exactly nothing about his boyfriend’s thoughts, Chuck’s face a careful, neutral mask.

_I don’t get it. Are you getting married or not?_

Yancy sighs, his face dulling from surface-of-the-sun to a much cooler molten lava.

“Like I said,” he starts, but Raleigh huffs with clear annoyance and starts scribbling again. Chuck lets out a huff as well, but it sounds more like laughter than anything else. After a moment, Raleigh holds his notebook up again.

_You said it used to be the same as getting married._

As Yancy watches, Raleigh underlines the second half of the sentence twice, then takes the notebook back to start writing again.

 _You’ve been together forever_, it reads, underline and all, _so why wouldn’t you get married? Doesn’t Chuck basically live here already anyway?_

“Rals, I—” Yancy feels his flush reignite to full heat, spreading so hot it feels cold, creeping over his ears and down his back. He looks at Chuck, trying to ask for help, but Chuck looks just as unreadable as before. “We’ve been together a _year_. That’s not forever.”

Raleigh rolls his eyes so hard Yancy’s worried it might physically hurt the kid, and then actually makes the sign for _dumbass_ before going back to writing. That, at least, makes Chuck react, barking out a quick laugh even as Yancy lets out a half-choked, “ _Rals_.”.

“Where’d you learn _that_ one, kiddo?” Chuck’s voice sounds artificially light. “Gosh, eleven years old and already a _deviant_.”

Raleigh ignores them both with the supreme lack of concern common to children. Instead focuses on what he’s writing, and flops the notebook on to the table when he’s done, attacking his dinner while they read.

 _I don’t get why you’re making it so difficult_ , it reads, although ‘difficult’ is misspelled. _You love each other, right? You make each other happy? Chuck is here all the time. Yance, you trust Chuck to pick me up from school. You’ve already given him a key. You’ve never trusted anyone else that much. Not even Uncle Charlie. How are you not already married anyway?_

“Rals, Uncle Charlie,” he starts but then stops himself.

Raleigh only knows of their uncle from vague mentions of his existence. He doesn’t _know_...everything. Or anything really. Especially not the reason why Charles Becket had been banned from their house after the first time he’d visited. Why Yancy still has a court-mandated restraining order folded in the fire-proof safe in his closet, right on top of his and Raleigh’s birth certificates.

And today isn’t the day to tell him, either. The kid is _eleven_. Yancy sighs.

“Uncle Charlie didn't want anything to do with us.”

Yancy can taste the lie as it slips over his tongue, but swallows the bitter rush back.

“And the thing is kiddo, it's not always that simple. I,” he glances over at Chuck, blushing, “I asked Chuck to move in with us because I really like him. And I want him to be closer. But—”

“Y’know,” Chuck interrupts him, brow raised and grin curling one corner of his mouth, “while you two are talking about the meaning and history of marriage, you haven't actually let me answer.”

Yancy’s mouth shuts with a clack of teeth.

“Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_. Making it so much more complicated than it needs to be.”

Something twists in Yancy’s gut. His cheeks, which had been on their way to cooling, warm again. Heat races down his spine.

“So, is that a yes?”

Chuck rolls his eyes, stabbing at his food with his fork.

“Of course it's a yes. The kid’s right, I basically live here already. Might as well make it official. If,” Chuck’s face tinges pink while his ears flame bright red, and it's a rare enough occurrence that Yancy has to blink several times before his brain fully accepts the image as fact, “if you'll have me.”

Yancy finds himself gaping for a moment, emotions running rampant in his chest and keeping him from forming words. So instead he leans over the corner of the table and kisses Chuck, right then and there. When he pulls back, Raleigh is pantomiming shoving the handle of his fork down his throat and gagging. Yancy elects to ignore him.

“Of course we’ll have you. I wouldn’t’ve asked otherwise.” He waits a beat before adding, “Idiot.”

“Seppo,” Chuck returns, not unfondly, and curls a hand around Yancy’s neck to pull their smiles together again.

And, all things considered, Yancy can’t find it in him to actually regret the words.

 

———

 

Raleigh’s scowling at him when Yancy tucks the kid in a few nights later. It’s an old tradition, sure, and maybe Raleigh’s getting a little old for it, but Yancy wants to enjoy it while he still has the chance. The kid’s shot up about two inches in three months, so Yancy’s fairly certain it’s safe to say the dreaded p word is upon them all. He’s just thankful the level of moodiness he has no doubt Raleigh will reach hasn’t started yet.

Small miracles.

He’s just leaned over to leave a gentle kiss on Raleigh’s forehead when his brother reaches over to the bedside table where a notebook lives now near-permanently. Scrawls something on the pages while Yancy sits back on the bed’s edge and waits. He has to tilt the page to better catch the light from the hallway once Raleigh flips it around, but the words themselves are simple enough.

_Why can’t you get married? Chuck is already like my second dad._

Of course his brother isn’t going to let this go. Kid has probably been stewing on it, buying his time until Yancy’s guard is down.

Still, something about the words makes Yancy’s chest seize, his heart feeling like it’s writhing its way between his ribs. He has to keep his eyes on the words to keep up the appearance that he’s thinking about them instead of reeling—even if he doesn’t know _why_. Swallows the lump at the back of his throat. And then it hits him like a sledgehammer blow to the base of his skull.  

 _Second dad_.

Just thinking the words makes something rise hot and thick in Yancy’s throat. Even if someone were to put a gun to his head, he wouldn’t be unable to say whether it’s joy or despair. The lump he’d just swallowed feels like it’s trying to choke him, and he has to clear his throat or risk the air becoming trapped in his lungs.

“I,” his brain whirls, attempting to come up with the right words, some way to _explain_ this tangled web of who-the-fuck-knows that has become their life, and comes up empty.

“You,” he tries again, but still nothing. The sheer emptiness, the lack of coherence, of _anything_ , twists something sour in his guts. He is supposed to do better, _be_ better, than this. For his brother. For _Raleigh_. Raleigh whose eyes are glimmering expectantly in the near-dark, waiting for an answer. An answer Yancy doesn’t have. He realizes his hands are grasping at the air, forming empty claws above his knees, and he has to make a force of will to calm his fingers and turn his palms flat against his legs.

“He wouldn’t be your dad,” Yancy finally manages to get out, “you know that, right?”

Even in the dark, Yancy can see the flat look his brother gives him. The kid pulls his notebook back and starts scribbling again. Yancy waits patiently, his brows furrowing when Raleigh takes longer than he’d expected. When the notebook is finally turned back towards Yancy, Raleigh is still wearing that same, flat expression.

 _Obviously. He’d be my brother-in-law. That doesn’t mean he’s not my dad. The same way you’re my brother, but you’re also my dad. You’re not my_ , and here the kid had written several things and scribbled them out, unable to come up with a word if Yancy had to guess, _dad-dad, but you’re my dad. You’ve raised me. You’ve been my parent for longer than Mom or Dad ever were. And Chuck takes care of me_ , here Yancy can see that the words “like you do” have been scratched out, _almost like you do. If that doesn’t make you or him my dad, then what does?_

God, this is so fucked up. Yancy bows his head, trying to hide the way his eyes have filled with unshed tears. He’s only just managed to will them away, to make sure they won't fall, when he hears Raleigh move. Then his brother’s hands are pulling his face back up, grip surprisingly firm.

 _Big brother_ , Raleigh signs, brows creased, _you alright?_

God, this is _so_ fucked up.

“I, Rals, I’m sorry,” Yancy sighs, doing his best to keep the kid’s gaze but finding it difficult at best. “I’m sorry I’ve made this so weird. I love you, you know that, right?”

Raleigh nods. Signs, _I love you_. He goes the extra mile and waggles the sign in the air before placing it over his heart, something that Yancy has never seen from anyone other than his brother, and even then never directed at anyone other than himself. He’s never figured out of it’s just a different way of saying it, or if it’s some more widely-used sign he doesn’t know, but his best interpretation is that it’s some sort of emphasis Raleigh came up with on his own. Something that’s just theirs. Yancy has always interpreted it as, _I love you so much_ , or, _I love you more than anything_. Raleigh’s never mouthed words along with the sign, one of the most common ways ASL overcomes ambiguity, and Yancy sometimes wonders if the kid is as unwilling to define it as he is to ask.

“I know you said you think of me as your dad,” Yancy twitches the notebook in his hands, “but...you’re still my baby brother to me. You'll _always_ be my little brother. I’m...I’m sorry.”

Raleigh nods. Signs, _I know. It's okay. You might not be,_ Raleigh doubles the sign for ‘father’ which Yancy interprets as ‘dad-dad,’ and he has to suppress a grin in spite of everything, _but you're_ …

The kid pauses, considers, then makes grabby hands at the notebook. Not two seconds later, the page is thrust back at Yancy.

_father figure_

_But_ , Yancy focuses back on Raleigh signing, _you're also my dumbass big brother._

“One day,” Yancy grunts, “I will learn who taught you that.”

Raleigh huffs. Pen scratches paper, and then,

_You’re avoiding the question._

“Because I don't really know what to tell you, kiddo,” Yancy admits after he allows himself a brief pause to think. “Sometimes, people aren't ready to get married. I’m only twenty four. Marriage is a _big deal_. I don't,” he trails off as he shrugs, “I don't think I'm ready.”

Raleigh looks at him, the kid’s face pinching slightly, before he scrawls out, _Why didn't you just say so in the first place?_

“Because it's _awkward_ ,” Yancy insists. Can feel himself blushing. “I swear, that wasn't what I was going for when I asked Chuck to move in. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't what he was going for when he said yes.”

_But do you want to marry him someday?_

“You sure do ask a lot of questions,” Yancy remarks dryly, and gets a gentle kick for his trouble as Raleigh jabs his finger at his earlier statement about avoiding the question and then back to his current question.

“Fine, whatever,” Yancy tries not to think about how similar his huff is to Raleigh’s, “probably, maybe one day. I dunno, Rals. That's the future. We’ll worry about it when it's not tomorrow.”

Raleigh stares at him for perhaps a handful of seconds before his eyebrows go up.

 _I get it now,_ he signs, then starts scribbling again.

 _You love him_ , the note reads, _and you want to marry him, but you aren't ready to admit it to yourself. Don't worry big bro, your secret is safe with me._

Raleigh’s finished the note with a winking smiley face and everything. Yancy sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He doesn't need to look up to know his brother is grinning at him like he's won some kind of prize.

“Promise me you won't inherit more of Chuck’s sense of humor when he moves in, _please_? I can only deal with one sarcastic butthead at a time.”

Though Raleigh’s wheezing attempts at laughter might seem odd to someone else, they, and the wide grin on the kid’s face, make Yancy’s heart soar. He leans forward, ruffling the kid’s hair before his lips find the place where hairline and forehead meet.

“Get some sleep, Rals. Chuck’s spending the night, so we’ll be right down the hall if you need us.”

Almost as if on cue, Raleigh yawns, his jaw stretching wide. Yancy takes advantage of the distraction to smooth the kid’s hair away from his eyes. It makes Raleigh wrinkle his nose and bat at Yancy’s fingers, letting out a huff that’s broken by another yawn.

“Sleep,” Yancy insists, putting gentle pressure on his brother’s shoulders. Raleigh goes without much more fuss, leaning back until he’s horizontal again. He even lets Yancy tuck him in again, and doesn’t even cringe when another goodnight kiss is plopped on his forehead. It probably has something to do with the way Yancy can hear the kid’s breathing already evening out.

“Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he whispers into his brother's hair, leaving one last dry press of lips among the blonde strands before standing as silently as he can.

When Yancy turns from swinging Raleigh’s door until it’s just barely open, Chuck is standing in the hallway, silent. He’s in his sleep clothes already, just a tee and some sweats—there’s no way in _hell_ either of them is sleeping naked after one very memorable morning when Raleigh came in without knocking—and he’s leaning against the wall, his arms at his sides.

 _Everything okay?_ Chuck signs, and this is one advantage of having to learn ASL for Raleigh that Yancy can most definitely get behind. _You took a while. I got worried._

A flash of something bright but cold goes through Yancy’s guts, and he gestures towards his bedroom just across and down the hall. He signs, _More later_ , because while he can recognize and interpret signs easily enough, he always seems to forget anything more than the basics when he’s trying to do it himself. If he’s honest with himself, it’s probably a product of laziness, since he’s never _needed_ to sign for Raleigh to understand him. Besides, as the years go by, he’s more and more convinced that the ASL he knows now is more Raleigh-SL than American-SL.

Chuck takes it in stride, though, and pushes himself off the wall and takes Yancy’s hand in his own. Steers them both into Yancy’s room and swings the door to near-shut as silently as he can. The damn thing squeaks when it’s about eighty, ninety percent closed unless it’s moved at _just_ the right speed, and Chuck seems to be learning.

“He asked about the marriage thing again,” Yancy whispers, moving to stand beside the bed. His hands rubs at his eyes and then run down his face as he recalls the words of their conversation. “He called us his dads.”

“Ah.”

The soft tone in Chuck’s voice makes Yancy look up. The single syllable isn’t _understanding_ , exactly, but it’s something close. “What?”

“And you weren’t alright with that.”

It’s not a question. Yancy feels his brows pulling themselves into a frown. His gut instinct is to agree, to say that, no, of _course_ he’s not okay with his brother thinking of him as “dad.” Their dad was absent at best, abusive at worst, and Yancy’s just grateful his brother both doesn’t remember and didn’t have time to truly experience growing up with Richard Becket. He’s not grateful the man is dead by any means—he’s not _that_ cruel—but Yancy would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised their father was even present to be in the car with Raleigh and their mother the night...the night everything changed.

Though, really, that’s probably for the best. Yancy tries to imagine their father raising Raleigh without their mother there, and shudders. He has no doubt he would’ve had to take Raleigh away on his own within the first year.

Still, Yancy at least understands the theory behind what it means to be a dad. A father. What it means that Raleigh sees him that way—the love and trust it implies. It makes something in his chest try to soar.

“It’s,” Yancy fumbles for the right words, biting his lip as he strips off his pants and reaches under the bed for where he’s pretty sure he threw his sweats this morning. Victorious, he grabs them and pulls them on before sliding under the sheets. He still hasn’t come up with the right words to describe the swirl of emotions in his chest, so he settles for, “complicated.”

“Ah.”

Chuck climbs in after him, then reaches over Yancy to turn out the lamp on the bedside table. Their chests brush together, and a swirl of heat goes up Yancy’s spine in spite of everything else. Chuck has...a very broad chest. And shoulders. He keeps himself in check, though, and stares back when Chuck settles beside him, propped on an arm, carefully neutral expression barely visible in the light filtering in from the hall.

“You think I shouldn’t’ve made a big deal of it?”

“I think I don't get a lot of say in how you parent your kid brother.”

Yancy groans, though makes sure to keep it quiet.

“Oh my god, don't say it like that.”

The shrug Chuck offers up is somehow graceful despite him lying on his side.

“You're his parent, Yance. He’s eleven. You're twenty-four. You're the responsible adult in his life. Of course he's gonna see you that way.”

A sigh works its way from between Yancy’s lips, and he flops onto his back.

“I know, but—”

“Nothing says you can't be his brother, too.”

Yancy huffs. For just a moment, he's caught off guard by just _how much_ like Raleigh it sounds. But he blinks, feels his neck tense like it's trying to shake his head to loosen the thought.

“I can't have both, Chuck. It doesn't work like that.”

“Says who?”

“Says—says _everyone_.”

“Yancy,” Chuck’s arm crosses the space between them, his palm settling over Yancy’s heart, his expression serious, almost earnest, “you know I love you. You and Rals are two of the best things to happen to me. I care about you. So please trust me when I say you're being a fucking idiot.”

Chuck, Yancy has learned from experience, tends to insult people as a matter of course. Especially when he's not entirely sure what else to do. Or if he wants to make them squirm. Or even sometimes if he wants to use it as a term of endearment.

This time, it is none of those. Chuck states Yancy's _fucking idiocy_ like a plain fact. There is no heat, no anger, no intent to hurt in the words. Just flat observation. A kernel of anger might blink to life in Yancy’s chest—of _course_ it does—but he manages to push it back.

“And why do you say that?”

“Because,” Chuck’s hand on Yancy’s chest rubs small circles, “you're ignoring the part where you can be his brother, but also be his parent when you need to be. You just need to make sure you don't accidentally act like his brother when what he needs is a parent. Especially now, when he’s—”

Chuck's free hand moves until it's gesturing at the door. His face twists, almost as if uncomfortable, and Yancy suddenly gets what he's trying to say.

“Puberty,” he suggests. Chuck nods.

“Right. He's going to need you, both as a brother and as a parent.”

Yancy sighs through his nose, considering. He feels his lip being drawn between his teeth.

“I suppose...I suppose I can do that.” His eyes move up from where they'd been focusing at nothing, finding Chuck's face. Chuck quirks an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“And you wanted to move in, in the middle of all,” Yancy gestures at the door like Chuck had, then at himself, “all this?”

“ _Fucking_ seppo,” this time, Chuck is using his fond insults voice. He leans forward until his lips brush Yancy's. “There's no place I'd rather be.”

Yancy hums into the kiss, returning it gently.

“Does this mean you're accepting Raleigh’s proposal of our marriage?”

Chuck’s hand finds his in the near-dark, their fingers entwining. He leans forward, not kissing, but instead this time just letting their foreheads touch, their eyes scant inches apart. It makes Yancy feel almost like he's drowning in those blue-green depths. Chuck doesn't say anything, but the devotion Yancy sees reflected back at him is answer enough. His breath hitches in his chest. Something hot and fast is rising up in his chest.

“I—” he starts, but his throat closes around his own whispered words.

“How about we consider living together a trial period?” Chuck offers softly, moving back to his previous position. “In a year or two or three or however many you need, we can talk about it again.”

Yancy finds the hot feeling almost overwhelming him.

“Y-you're sure?”

Chuck’s fingers, still interlocked with Yancy’s, squeeze.

“I meant what I said. No place. None.”

 


End file.
